


Cassiopeia

by FindingSchmomo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cultural Differences, Daddy Issues, Extended Metaphors, Family Drama, Fluff, Japanese-American Character, M/M, One Night Stands, Past ushioi - Freeform, Road Trips, Self-Hatred, Tattoos, basically iwaizumi is a mess, but like thats barely anything, oikawa has an adventure kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-05 23:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FindingSchmomo/pseuds/FindingSchmomo
Summary: Iwaizumi wishes his mother had not raised him right. Had not modelled kindness and goodness so well. Had not instilled in him the need to step in when things we’re not right, when things felt wrong.But his mother did raise him to meddle, and that’s how Iwaizumi finds himself with a stranger passed out in the passenger seat of his car, driving around in circles in the dead of night stuck only with questions and no answers.“Fuck,” he hisses, hitting the top of his steering wheel in frustration, but not hard enough to awaken the poor man beside him.(Because he’s just too fucking god damn nice.)





	Cassiopeia

Iwaizumi wishes his mother had not raised him right. Had not modelled kindness and goodness so well. Had not instilled in him the need to step in when things we’re not right, when things felt wrong. 

But his mother  _ did _ raise him to meddle, and that’s how Iwaizumi finds himself with a stranger passed out in the passenger seat of his car, driving around in circles in the dead of night stuck only with questions and no answers. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, hitting the top of his steering wheel in frustration, but not hard enough to awaken the poor man beside him. 

(Because he’s just too fucking god damn nice.)

* * *

It’s late when Iwaizumi reaches the rest stop, darkness seeping into the sky. He probably has another two hours before exhaustion forces him to pull into a motel for the night. But he’d like that to be closer to four hours, so hopefully the coffee he’s trying to order from this deserted coffee shop will help with that.

The rest stop is right behind the highway, the noise of cars racing by buzzing into the backdrop. Iwaizumi cracks his neck while he waits by the counter, tiredly wiping at his eyes with his fist clenched around his order ticket. The teenage barista pays him no mind.

He still has five days on the road before he gets to his new place. He might be able to cut it down to four if he’s lucky and traffic’s on his side. The sooner he can get there and start unpacking the better. He’d only been on the road for two days but he was already over it. His car was cramped enough with all his boxes, and he’d give anything to sleep in his own bed again. 

He grabs his coffee as it comes out, foregoing any sweet additions in favor of pure caffeine. Part of him wants to chug the drink down, but the other, more sensible part of him, doesn’t want to burn his entire mouth in the process. 

The chilly night air hits him by surprise after the warmth of the cafe, making him shiver. His fingers coil tighter around his cup, instinctively for warmth. He makes his way to his car, putting the drink down in his cup holder before sitting down. 

He doesn’t really get to the second part. 

There’s a sharp scream that hits him harder than the wind ever could, “I said let go of me,  _  you bastard _ !” 

Iwaizumi straightens up, eyes wide as he swivels his head toward the source of the sound. He squints in the darkness, making out a seedy bar across the way, a neon red sign emblazoned on its front, decorated with a couple of tasteless images. He frowns. 

Two men are arguing outside the bar, illuminated by the flickering street lamp near the gravel parking lot. They’re both tall, taller than Iwaizumi, but one’s lanky and the other looks more like a brick wall than a person. 

Brick Wall has his hand grabbing Lanky’s arm, tight and hard, while Lanky is doing his absolute best to wrench it free. He’s still screaming at him, loud and incessant and slurred. 

Iwaizumi swallows and closes his car door, staying outside. 

“No!” the skinnier man is shouting, and Iwaizumi thinks his voice might be cracking, “I’m not going with you!” 

Iwaizumi can’t hear Brick Wall’s response to it, but he does see him pull the man closer to him  _ hard. _ Hard enough to make the poor guy stumble, feet slipping on the gravel. 

“Hey!” Iwaizumi finds himself calling, racing toward them, “Leave him alone!”

Now that Iwaizumi is closer, much closer, the stench of alcohol hits him. The lanky man  _ reeks  _ of it, and it sends alarm bells all throughout Iwaizumi’s head. And then when the man looks at him, with his big brown eyes and  _ jesus christ is he crying? _

Something twists in his heart. 

Brick Wall speaks up then, grabbing his attention, “This doesn’t concern  _ you _ .”

He says it harshly, with a deep voice that could make the earth quake and it’s the wrong thing to say. Because it doesn’t make Iwaizumi shake, it makes him harden, eyebrows furrowing together. 

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Iwaizumi snaps back.

This seems to stun Brick Wall, who relaxes his grip enough for Lanky to pull free and stumble toward Iwaizumi and giving a cry, “Tell him to stop!” Iwaizumi catches him instinctively, a hand coming up to keep the guy from falling to the ground. Iwaizumi can see that he’s wearing a disheveled suit. Maybe even a tuxedo. Just what the hell is going on here?

Brick Wall isn’t amused by this turn of events, hand coming back out to grab at Lanky, “We do not have time for this.”

But Iwaizumi puts himself between the two, “Hey, back off man, he doesn’t want to go with you.”

Brick Wall glares at him severely, mouth parting to say something, but Lanky beats him to it, “I’m not going home with you! How many times do I have to say that? Just leave already!” Lanky’s wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi’s arm, leaning heavily against him. His body is warm, an absolute furnace, really. It’s distracting. 

Brick Wall looks  _ pissed _ , but he also looks tired and over it. Iwaizumi assumes the guy must realize Lanky isn’t worth the trouble anymore. Good. What a piece of shit this guys is. Iwaizumi kinda wants to punch him, knock him down a peg so they can look each other in the eye. But he doesn’t want to get into a brawl, and he can’t really move with Lanky using all his weight on him. 

Brick Wall lets out a sigh that almost sounds like a snarl, the way it scratches at his throat and trills. He turns away, pulling out his phone to call someone. Maybe a cab or something. Iwaizumi feels smug. 

Lanky tugs at his arm, “C’mon,” he urges, feet stumbling, “He won’t give up that easy.”

Iwaizumi hesitates, staring at the stranger. 

But the stranger stares right back, with wet eyes and a red face, sweaty bangs and the color of his shirt stained a deep red from a glass of spilled wine, “Please,” he begs, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Iwaizumi swallows, thickly. He spares Brick Wall a glance before turning and taking Lanky’s arm and hurrying him across the parking lot to his car. He doesn’t have time to feel weird about it, especially as Brick Wall shouts after them, and Lanky’s breath tickles his ear with an excited giggle. 

He shoves Lanky into his car before running to the other side and getting behind the wheel. He peels away without a second thought, flooring it down the highway with his own adrenaline fueled laugh.

The rush wears off pretty quickly, as he sinks into his seat and lets his hands sink to the bottom of his steering wheel. Beside him the man has somehow passed out, as if just being able to rest his long legs was enough to grant him sleep. 

Iwaizumi tries to keep his gaze on the road as the full weight of what he’s done settles on his shoulders. 

“What the fuck am I doing,” Iwaizumi hisses, quietly. 

He takes a sip of his coffee and finds it cold. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

He’s wide awake. 

* * *

Iwaizumi rests his head against the palm of his hand, leaning heavily against the elbow on the sleek (and slightly sticky) table top. Across from him, in the dingy lighting of the roadside diner, is Lanky, guzzling down his plate of waffles like it’s his job.

Iwaizumi covers his smile by twisting the hand on his cheek. 

After riding around in circles last night wondering what to do with the stranger dead asleep in his car, he pulled into a motel and got the guy a room. He thought about leaving then, but that felt too harsh. So he slept in his car right outside, terrified of what tomorrow would bring.

He didn’t expect Lanky to knock on his window that morning, still clad in his stained tuxedo, whining about a massive hangover and begging for food. But that's what he got. 

Lanky pulls him from his thoughts, making a whining noise in the back of his throat and motioning his hand at the syrup. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and hands it over, watching the man grin and pour a hefty amount over his plate. 

“Sweet stuff isn’t going to help your hangover,” Iwaizumi can’t help but chide, taking another sip of his coffee. 

“But it’ll help my mood,” Lanky counters. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t bother responding, leaning back in his booth to appraise the stranger before him one more time.  

He’s tall with a thin long neck and a good looking face. He must have showered before they left the motel because his face looks clean. His brown wavy hair is styled, parted right above his left eye. He looks good. He would look better if he wasn’t wearing the same clothes from last night. 

Last night.

“Last night,--” Iwaizumi starts, leaning forward. 

Lanky interrupts him, “Where in Japan are you from?” 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, startled, “How do you know I’m Japanese?”

Lanky grins, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, “A hunch. A feeling. A shared kindred spirit.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. 

_ “貴方の出身はどこですか?”  _ Lanky continues, leaning forward with a smile. 

Iwaizumi grimaces, catches a few sounds he can recognize, understands it’s a question but not much else, “Never been to Japan,” he manages.

Lanky blinks, sitting back down and looking oddly disappointed. “Oh,” he supplies.

Iwaizumi snorts, trying to cover up his embarrassment by moving the conversation along, “So I take it  _ you’re _ Japanese too?”

Lanky flashes a peace sign and gives a wink. It’s revolting, and the disgust must be painted clearly on Iwaizumi’s face because Lanky gives a sudden laugh at the sight of it. He quiets down, smiling wide and offering his hand for a shake, “Oikawa Tooru.”

Iwaizumi licks his lips before taking the hand with his own, giving it a firm shake, “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

* * *

Iwaizumi Hajime doesn’t know how he ends up in these situations. Again he blames his mother, too kind for her own good, letting her genes seep through to his own.

He rubs his face tiredly and debates whether he should just leave, but right as he’s about to twist the key in his ignition, Oikawa steps out of the clothing store in a teal polo, white fitted linen pants and a sharp pair of sunglasses. He has a new duffle bag hanging off his shoulder.

Oikawa flicks the shades up to reveal his brown eyes, his lip curling on his face and sending Iwaizumi a wink. It reminds Iwaizumi to close his mouth and squeeze the steering wheel to settle himself. He needs to get a hold of himself. 

Oikawa gets into the car, shoving his new bag into the back of the already cluttered car. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, but waits for Oikawa to settle into his seat and figure out his long legs. He pushes his shades up into his bangs, bunching up the strands but still managing to look good. 

It’s kind of infuriating. 

Iwaizumi tears his eyes away to stare straight ahead at the storefront, “Where should I drop you off?”

Oikawa plays nonchalant, twisting his head to look for the lever on the side of the seat. He reclines back with a lazy smile, “Where are  _ you _ headed? Moving to a new place?”

“The other side of the country, actually,” Iwaizumi supplies, “And I really need to get moving again if I want to get settled before my job starts. So where should I drop you off?”

“Cross country roadtrip?” Oikawa perks up, “Sounds fun. This is my first time in America. I’d love to see more of it.”

Iwaizumi blinks, staring at him, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t mind me, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa continues, flicking his shades down and getting a bit more comfortable in his seat, “You just drive.”

“What?”

Oikawa giggles, “You don’t know Japanese, and it sounds to me like you don’t understand English very well either,” he turns his head to the side to look directly at Iwaizumi, lifting the shades up so his gaze is unimpeded, “I have to fly back to Japan eventually, but why not go on a little adventure in the meantime?”

“With a total stranger?” Iwaizumi squints at him, “Don’t you have a flight to catch? A job? Family to get back to?”

Iwaizumi catches the way Oikawa’s eyes look away for a moment, the way his fingers tense around his arm rest, and the silence that sits on his lips. After a second Oikawa licks his lips, as if he needs to restart them, turning to settle back on his back, “I can’t go back yet.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrow, looking away to stare at his dirty windshield. He wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. His stomach swirls uncomfortably inside him and he can’t risk getting nauseous with so much driving on the agenda. 

Oikawa’s voice is quiet, like he doesn’t want Iwaizumi to hear him at all, “Please don’t make me go back yet.”

Iwaizumi grits his teeth behind his closed lips, switching the ignition on and pulling his gear into reverse. He looks behind, one hand on Oikawa’s seat as he pulls out of the parking space. Once he’s out and at a red light he leans over, ignoring the way his arm brushes against Oikawa’s thigh in the enclosed space, in order to open his glove compartment. He snatches out his folded map, slapping it against Oikawa’s lap rougher than necessary. 

He snorts at the squeal he receives, bringing his hands back to his wheel and turning left when the green light hits his eyes, “You’re not getting free ride. Earn your keep and navigate.”

Oikawa blinks, staring at the map in his lap before breaking out into a beaming smile. It’s blinding, and Iwaizumi wishes, suddenly, he had his own pair of sunglasses to protect him from it. He doesn’t want to think about it, or about how crazy this all is, to just allow a stranger to be in his car for who knows how long. He doesn’t want to think about it. 

So his mind distracts him, “Wait a second,” he says, “Did you just call me  _ Iwa-chan _ ?”

Oikawa laughs.

* * *

“This isn’t right,” Iwaizumi grouses, leaning over to try to look at the map Oikawa has clutched in his hands.

Oikawa keeps it away, “Turn left at the light,” he orders. 

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Iwaizumi snaps, but flicks his turn signal on anyway. 

“A secluded spot to murder you, darling,” Oikawa coos and Iwaizumi hates how his toes curl in his shoes. He turns sharper than necessary and Oikawa laughs, “Do you really think I could murder you? You’re built like a tank.”

Iwaizumi flushes a bit without his permission and almost shouts when Oikawa leans over to squeeze his bicep through his short sleeve. He manages to keep his cool by biting his tongue. 

Oikawa reads his silence as anger, and pulls back with a frown, “I wanted to do a little sightseeing, that’s all.”

Iwaizumi looks over at him, “I’m on a time crunch. I marked down the shortest route.”

“You can’t just  _ not _ visit the Grand Canyon on a road trip, Iwa-chan.”

“Are you serious?” Iwaizumi growls, “Shit’s a tourist trap.”

“Well, I’m a tourist,” Oikawa continues, “And I’ve never been. And it’s right there! Wouldn’t it be a waste to not?”

“You’re a waste,” Iwaizumi mutters under his breath, but follows the signs for the attraction regardless. 

They park the car and get out. Oikawa starts lathering himself in sunscreen while Iwaizumi watches with a roll of his eyes. He swats the hand away when Oikawa tries to dab some on his face, “There’s nothing funny about Skin Cancer, Iwa-chan.”

“There’s nothing wrong about not looking like a vampire,” Iwaizumi counters.

Oikawa huffs and ducks back into the car. Iwaizumi assumes he’s putting his stuff away but instead Oikawa seems to be riffling through  _ his stuff _ . He comes back out sporting one of Iwaizumi’s old baseball caps and Iwaizumi sends him a glare. He can’t bring himself to yell though, because he’s stunned by how  _ good _ Oikawa looks in it, with his brown curls poking out and curling close to his face. 

“Onwards!” Oikawa decides, ruining any chance Iwaizumi had to argue. He starts onto the trail at the edge of the parking lot, weaving through other groups of families and dogs like a man on a mission. 

Again, Iwaizumi has half a mind to just leave. He isn’t making nearly enough progress each day as he had hoped now that he’s shackled with a man who demands to eat three times a day and sleep in a bed every night at a normal hour. He can feel the stress building in him, itching his legs to turn back and  _ go _ .

But, he also has never been to the Grand Canyon. Never really had the time to do it. And it makes him think of his father, and his words all throughout his childhood, and it makes his heart sting. So he follows, feet hurrying to catch up to Oikawa’s long stride. 

He catches up to Oikawa on the trail, making a point to shoulder his way ahead of him. He ignores the light giggle it elicits, keeping his face angry and his eyes squinting against the sun. It’s loud on the little trail to the edge of the canyon, with children running around and screaming, couples holding hands and some older people staggering about. 

Normally Iwaizumi wouldn’t mind, or would even appreciate the chance to people watch, but he’s in a terrible mood. 

It’s not that he hates wasting time, it’s not that he’s driving long hours with a passenger that won’t  _ shut up _ , it’s not that he’s spending way more money than he budgeted for---well, it is all that. It definitely is. 

But it’s also the fact he can’t ever tell this stranger  _ no _ that’s bothering him the most. 

Iwaizumi has always prided himself on his independence, his ability to stick to his own truth and forge his own path. He doesn’t really bend to anyone, except maybe his parents, but that’s a given. 

He’s never had a non-relative, a man he only met a few days ago, even, weasel his way into control so easily. So disgustingly easily. 

And in the moment, he doesn’t even  _ mind _ . 

It’s after the fact, as he’s stomping down the trail in his own thoughts that he gets upset over it. Angry at the implications, furious at his rocking stomach and sweaty hands that he knows in his heart of hearts has nothing to do with the unbearable heat. 

He freezes as a hat is shoved down onto his head. He shakes the lanky man off him, looking over. 

Oikawa smiles, “Don’t be so grumpy in the sun, Iwa-chan. I just want a quick look is all,” he assures, flicking the visor on the cap. He hurries away then, and Iwaizumi is struck with how  _ tall _ he is, and slim and beautiful. 

And he  _ hates _ it. 

He grits his teeth and runs after him. 

He’s not sure how it happens, or why, but it ends up a race between the two of them. Oikawa is lot more coordinated than he looks, breezing past the crowded area while Iwaizumi does his best to keep up. He’s spurred on by the idiots squeals of delight and his absolute need to shut him up.

But then Oikawa stops, and Iwaizumi has to screech to a halt to keep from barreling into him. He’s about to curse him out for it too, until he catches sight of the Grand Canyon before him and can’t help but stop and gasp too. 

The rest of the day is quieter, more introspective, and Oikawa doesn’t mind eating fast food in the car or stopping at one of the seedier, cheaper motels for the night. He doesn’t really say much at all. 

It’s why, when they’re about to turn in, in their separate beds that he asks, quietly, if Iwaizumi would like to go look at the stars for a bit. It’s why, when he asks him that, so softly that he might have just breathed it into his stiff sheets, that Iwaizumi agrees. 

He drives them further out, close to one of the national forests they’re near, before parking the vehicle. He shows Oikawa how to climb onto the roof of his car, holding his hand to help him up. It’s a bit chilly in the dead of night, so Iwaizumi tries not to question when Oikawa snuggles as close as possible to him. 

They lay there, sides pressed close together, looking up at a million stars and trying to ignore the distant, random shrieks of elk ruining the moment.

(Not that there  _ is  _ a moment, that would be absurd.)

“There’s Cassiopeia,” Oikawa whispers, despite the fact they’re alone--other than that one horny elk. “It’s my favorite. And it’s connected there to the Summer Triangle. Oh, and over--”

“Why’s it your favorite?” Iwaizumi asks, just as quietly, turning his head to the side. He swallows when he realizes how close they are. How his nose brushes against Oikawa’s brown curls.

Oikawa’s eyes turn to him and he smiles, almost bashful, so unlike the bravado of the past few days, “I can always find it,” he supplies, “And it’s nice to know, wherever I am, that it’ll always be up there.”

“Couldn’t you say that for any constellation?” Iwaizumi reminds. 

Oikawa hums, settling back, he lifts his hand up to trace the zig zag in the sky, “I find the W shape is easier to find than any of the other constellations.”

Iwaizumi looks back up at the sky, “I thought it would be because Cassiopeia was a queen who boasted about her unrivaled beauty.”

Oikawa blinks, “Is she? They don’t teach that in Astronomy,” he laughs lightly. 

Iwaizumi smiles, “They do in Classics.”

Oikawa keeps laughing, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, “Figures you would major in something so stuffy. I know you told me you’re twenty-six but you act like you’re sixty-seven.”

Iwaizumi snorts, but he can’t bring himself to be offended with how sweet Oikawa’s giggles sound to his ears, “Well, you claim to be the same age as me, but all signs point to you being a four year old.” Oikawa giggles more and Iwaizumi feels warm. He can’t push down his smile, “So were you an Astro Major then?”

Oikawa shakes his head, “Minor. Daddy wouldn’t approve,” he sighs, pitching his voice a bit annoyingly higher, “I majored in Business.”

“Huh,” Iwaizumi comments, “I don’t see why a parent would discourage their kid from  _ astronomy _ .”

Oikawa shrugs, a bit stiffer than usual, “Get your head out of the stars, Tooru,’ is what he always told me,” Oikawa mutters, “It’s fine, though, I mean, he paid for everything so, it was the least I could do.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrow, “What do you mean?”

Oikawa licks his lips, sitting up, making Iwaizumi’s shoulder shiver in the sudden cold, “He was having a rough time. I didn’t want to push, back then, more than I needed to. So I just, I just didn’t argue.”

Iwaizumi sits up too, “You don’t have to talk about it.”

Oikawa snorts, shoulders quivering just a little. He shakes his head a bit, “Iwaizumi Hajime, just  _ who _ are you?” And there’s a smile brightening his face. 

Iwaizumi shrugs, “Classics Major. Japanese-American. Your chauffeur.”

“My knight in shining armor,” Oikawa adds. 

Iwaizumi thanks the darkness for shielding the blush aflame on his face, “What do you want to know?”

“What are your parents like?” Oikawa asks, picking at a thread tickling his knee. 

Iwaizumi thinks a moment, settling on, “Crazy.” He joins Oikawa in his light laugh, before continuing, “They’re...They’re great, honestly. Hardest workers I’ve ever met. They came here for a better life, before I was born, and all they do is work. My mom did odd jobs here and there, mostly washing clothes or sewing stuff. My dad, he worked in construction. Sometimes I’d go out there with him when I was a teenager. He, uh,” Iwaizumi rubs his chin, feeling his throat clog up without his permission, “He got hurt recently.”

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa murmurs, squeezing his hand with his own. Iwaizumi doesn’t remember holding it to begin with. 

He shakes his head, “He’s fine,” Iwaizumi assures, “My mom’s with him and he’s fine. And I got this high paying job now, so I can send money back for the hospital stuff. It’s fine.”

Oikawa nods, fingers playing with Iwaizumi’s own, “You’re a good son, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s laughs again, hoping it dislodges whatever’s stuck in his throat, “I try.”

Oikawa shakes his head, lifting his head to look at Iwaizumi seriously, “You’d much rather be close to them right now. But you have to move away to help them. That’s…” Oikawa squeezes his hand, “You’re a good person, Iwa-chan. A really,  _ really _ good person.”

Iwaizumi’s not sure what to say to that. Has never met anyone who could read him so easily, so plainly. In so little time too. He’s not sure what to make of it. But when he feels wetness gather at the corner of his eyes, he hunches forward to wipe them away quickly. 

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing circles into the back of his hand. 

Eventually they climb back down and Iwaizumi starts up his car. They drive back to the motel, the silence more comfortable than it has been in the past. Oikawa has his window open, the breeze blowing through his hair and his eyes locked on the sky. Iwaizumi wants to run his hand through the strands for not the first time. 

It’s only when they’re back in the motel, in their separate beds, that Iwaizumi speaks up, “And you? What about your parents?”

Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa might be asleep, but eventually the response comes out, “My mom died a long time ago.”   
  
Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say.

“She died again, a few days ago,” Oikawa adds. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say. 

“You called me pretty, earlier, didn’t you, Iwa-chan? Boasting of my unrivaled beauty.” Oikawa murmurs.

Iwaizumi throws a pillow at him.

* * *

“Oikawa!” Iwaizumi calls through the car window, “Your phone’s ringing again!”

Oikawa gives an acknowledging wave as he comes across the parking lot. He hands Iwaizumi his coffee through the window before turning around to slip into the passenger side. He looks at his phone plugged into the dashboard before silencing it and putting his own drink in the cupholder. 

Iwaizumi takes a sip of his coffee, giving a grimace, “You put sugar in this.”

“A pinch,” Oikawa says, twisting to strap in his seat belt.

“I told you I like it black.”

“You’re inhuman,” Oikawa counters, picking his phone back up to clear the missed call notification. Iwaizumi takes another sip of his coffee before putting it down and twisting the keys in his car. 

“Who was it?” he can’t help but ask as he pulls out of the Starbucks parking lot, leaning forward to get a better view of the road. 

Oikawa sucks up his sugary sweet cold brew through his straw noisily, “Telemarketers.”

Iwaizumi snorts but doesn’t question it, turning the car to the right and following down the road. Oikawa flicks on the radio, scanning endlessly through the channels, never leaving one on for longer than three seconds. 

Finally, Iwaizumi can’t help but knock the hand away, “Enough.”

Oikawa whines, “There’s nothing  _ good _ on.”

Iwaizumi bites the inside of his cheek, hesitating a moment before lifting his arm to open up the compartment behind his gear shift. He digs his hand in blindly and reveals a tangled up cord that he shoves into Oikawa’s lap. 

Oikawa blinks, “You have an aux cord?” Iwaizumi focuses on the road instead of answering. “And you didn’t tell me?” the man continues, aghast. “We could have been listening to Seventeen this whole time, and you kept that from me?”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” Iwaizumi grouses, letting Oikawa fiddle with the cord and plug it in, “I don’t want to listen to your JPop crap.”

“First of all, JPop isn’t crap, it’s your heritage. Second of all, I was talking about KPop just then, so maybe watch your racism there, boy.”

Iwaizumi laughs, loud and suddenly, fingers tightening on the steering wheel at how absurd the question is. Oikawa grins at him, enjoying the victory, before scrolling through his spotify for something to listen to. 

Iwaizumi feels compelled to lift his hand and slap the back of the man’s head--lightly of course--to make up for it. Oikawa lets out a whine and Iwaizumi finishes off the attack by ruffling his hair. Oikawa turns to swat at him but Iwaizumi easily lifts up his arm to block him, “You can’t attack the driver. You wanna cause on accident?”

Oikawa huffs, sinking back into his chair, “Unfair.”   
  
Iwaizumi smiles. 

They drive in a comfortable silence, the music filling up the space between them easily. Oikawa hums along to the songs, even sings to some of them with a confidence he shouldn’t possess for how off key he is. But Iwaizumi can’t bring himself to tell him, spending most of the afternoon biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. 

Their karaoke session is interrupted with another phone call, music replaced with a shrill ringing that has Oikawa scrambling to hang up on the call. In the shock Iwaizumi manages to look down and catch the contact name flash: _ 父さん. _

“Why won’t they give up,” Oikawa groans, but Iwaizumi catches the fake bravado in his voice. 

He licks his lips, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in a made up rhythm, reading the characters in his head over and over again. One of the few words he knows, for sure. 

_ Dad _ .

Oikawa gets the music to start playing again, but he doesn’t hum along, keeps his gaze focused out his window. His leg jitters unnoticed beneath him. Iwaizumi squeezes the wheel and tries to give driving his full attention.

He’s not sure when he wakes up from his daze, but his eyes catch sight of a brown sign and he feels compelled to turn off the expressway to follow it. Oikawa looks over at him, curiously. 

“Wanna stretch out my legs for a bit,” Iwaizumi supplies, pulling into the gravel parking lot.

Oikawa doesn’t argue, smiling softly and turning away to get out of the car. Iwaizumi still catches it, heart thumping in his chest without his permission. He takes in a breath. 

Unlike the last nature trail, this one is completely empty and tucked away. Iwaizumi checks his phone battery and reception, relief at the sight of so many bars. Just in case. 

Oikawa comes over to him, wielding sunscreen in one hand, “Is this where you murder  _ me _ , now?”

Iwaizumi lets the man rub the cream all over his face, if only to get him to smile again after having him sulk silently in his car for so long. “If I wanted to kill you I would have a long time ago, to give me some peace and quiet.”

Oikawa laughs, pinching Iwaizumi’s cheek, “Aww, Iwa-chan  _ doesn’t _ want to kill me. How cute.”

Iwaizumi huffs and swats the hand away, questioning why the hell he pulled over and why he even wanted Oikawa to start talking again. Everything that came out of his pretty mouth was nauseating to listen to. 

Oikawa giggles into his hand, skipping to follow after Iwaizumi onto the trail. The path is narrow, riddled with stray rocks and thick roots. It means they have to walk close together, and Iwaizumi can feel how Oikawa’s hands over around his arm, the heat of them burning holes in his shirt. 

Oikawa stumbles on a root and Iwaizumi grabs his arm instinctively to keep him from falling, “Be careful!” he snaps, and then, without making a comment, slips his hand down to hold his.

Oikawa looks winded, cheeks a bit flushed, most likely from the heat of the day. Iwaizumi looks away and keeps trudging forward, dragging Oikawa behind him. Oikawa’s fingers squeeze his hand tight before his legs catch up and they walk at the same comfortable pace. 

The forest is thick and beautiful, the leaves above them providing a canopy to block away the sun. The reprieve from its harsh glare makes the trail a sanctuary, not only for them, but for the stray chipmunks and lizards they find along the way. 

It’s a short trail, all things considered, but Oikawa lengthens it with his need for pictures of every new creature they encounter. Iwaizumi doesn’t mind it, especially as Oikawa re-attaches their hands together after every brief pause without a word. 

They hear the promised waterfall before they see it, the roar of the water filling up their ears and increasing the speed of their steps. 

The trail opens up to a large rocky clearing that empties out into a small pond, with a waterfall above, huggin the little cliffside. Oikawa points and Iwaizumi follows the direction with his eyes, up the tiny rocky path along the cliff. It takes them up higher; Iwaizumi keeping his grip on Oikawa tight less he slip and fall with his long unwieldy legs. This crack in the cliff face leads them to another outcropping, jutting maybe eight or so feet over the pool of water, and close enough to the falls to feel the spray cooling their skin. 

Oikawa sits down and Iwaizumi follows suite, watching wordlessly as the man takes as many pics as he wishes. Iwaizumi ends up lying down on the cool stone, closing his eyes and pillowing his head in his arms folded behind him. The spray occasionally hits the right side of his face, but it’s more soothing than anything. 

He could fall asleep here, easily, with the white noise of the world around him. 

Maybe he does. 

Oikawa taps his knee with his finger, at some point, rousing him up and blinking his eyes open. The man smiles at him, a touch apologetic, “Ne, Iwa-chan, can I ask you something?”

Iwaizumi blinks at him, heaving himself up into a sitting position. 

“How come you never learned Japanese?”

Iwaizumi scratches his cheek and shrugs, “My parents didn’t want me to,” he says, “Wanted to make sure I fit in at school and all.”

Oikawa draws a pattern on his folded up knee with an index finger, “That’s like, the opposite of me,” he laughs. He licks his lips, “My Dad made sure I learned English. That was the trade off of moving to Japan with my mom.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head, “Your dad knows English?”

Oikawa nods, “He’s white. He was born here. Met my mom when he was studying abroad or something.” He flicks his brown hair, letting his hand come up under his chin, “Couldn’t you tell?”

“What do you mean?” Iwaizumi asks, “Because your English is so good?”

Oikawa smiles, genuine, before trying to cover it up with words, “Because I look mixed, Iwa-chan. You look more bonafide Japanese than me.”

Iwaizumi blinks, “Does it matter?” he shrugs, eyebrows furrowing when Oikawa only responds by scratching his arm. He frowns, “You look good, Oikawa.”

Oikawa giggles, “Are you trying to seduce me, Iwa-chan?”

“I’m trying to punch you,” Iwaizumi counters, though he doesn’t bother lifting a hand to back up the threat. Instead he flicks a pebble out into the waterfall, watching it pierce the veil, “I’ve never been,” Iwaizumi can’t help saying, “To Japan. I don’t even know if I have family there still.”

“You should go!” Oikawa encourages, flicking Iwaizumi’s thigh, “I can play tour guide and everything.”

Iwaizumi smiles, straightening out his legs, “Don’t have the money for it. Someday.” He tilts his head back, looking up at the cloudless sky, “I’m saving up to take my Dad, before he…” 

The roar of the waterfall suddenly feels too loud in his ears. And it’s almost like he’s about to drown. 

Oikawa stands up without a word and starts pulling his shirt up above his head. 

It breaks whatever trance the water had over him, eyes suddenly glueing to the exposed pale skin of his car partner. Instead of drowning he feels parched, “What, What are you doing?”

Oikawa doesn’t respond, bending down to pull off his pants and underwear in one go. Iwaizumi flames up, feels himself falling backwards at how forcefully he looks away, “Oikawa, what the fuck!’

Oikawa looks back at him, the sun shining on his naked person and making his eyes glint, “We can’t leave here without having a little swim.”

“ _ What _ !?” Iwaizumi snaps, keeping his eyes strictly away. 

Oikawa laughs, “Oh my god,” he turns so his fronts facing him, making Iwaizumi squeeze his eyes shut. “We’re both guys, Iwa-chan,” he assures, “Haven’t you ever gone to a public bath?”

“ _ No! _ ” Iwaizumi almost shrieks. 

Oikawa laughs again, turning back around and padding to the edge of the ledge, “Well, I’ll be down there when you’re ready to join me.”

“Be careful!” Iwaizumi can’t help but shout as he watches Oikawa jump off. He scrambles forward, watching the man disappear beneath the water and come back up with a laugh. He smooths his wet hair back and waves up at him. 

The water beads rolling down his bare shoulders makes him sparkle in the sunlight and Iwaizumis is  _ lovestruck _ .

Awestruck. 

He means awestruck. 

He bites his lip. He hesitates a moment, before ripping his own clothes off as quickly as possible, so he doesn’t have time to think about it. 

Then he jumps.

* * *

“Iwa-chan! Come on,  _ please _ .”

“We can still drive for a while longer. I don’t want to stop so soon.”

“But we never get to spend the night in a big city. Come on! It’ll be fun,” Oikawa insists, having the audacity to lean across the car and hook his chin on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. Iwaizumi tries to shrug him off while also not crashing his car, but Oikawa’s fingers dig into his biceps, “We’re almost at your new place anyway right? Come on.”

It’s the last comment that does it, makes Iwaizumi’s stomach sink in his gut. The reality that their journey is barely a day away from ending. Even though he needs it to end, for work, it doesn’t sit right in him. It makes him feel sick.    
  
“Fine,” he concedes, frowning severely and turning off the freeway to drive into the city. 

Oikawa grins, squeezing his arm tight before releasing him and settling himself back into his seat, eager and content. “Iwa-chan, how much do you work out?”

“Huh?” Iwaizumi says, focusing on his turn. 

“Never mind,” Oikawa waves off, pulling up his phone to scroll through fun things to do in the area, legs jittery and excited. 

Iwaizumi tries not to think about it, circling around until he’s able to find a nice enough motel on perhaps the seedier side of town to park and check in too. They put their stuff down, and Oikawa freshens up in the bathroom before coming out with a clap of his hands and announcing their dinner plans. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t question it, simply following him along down the sidewalk as the GPS guides them through the city. The sky is darkening by the time they reach the bar Oikawa’s decided upon. It’s small, intimate and dimly lit. 

They’re seated in a booth around the corner, at a table much too small for two grown men. Oikawa doesn’t complain, shining bright smiles at their flustered waitress while she hands out menus. 

Iwaizumi orders a beer. 

Oikawa asks for a margherita. 

Oikawa keeps the conversation up for most of dinner, talking incessantly, teasing and joking. Iwaizumi offers words when needed, but it feels like a somber blanket has draped itself across his shoulders, keeping him down. 

He can feel Oikawa’s feet playing with his own, feel his fingers poking and prodding at his arms over the table, but all he can do is reflexively pull back. 

The food is delicious at least. 

The alcohol helps, he notices. Each sip pulling the blanket back and making him feel lighter, making his laugh louder and truer. Oikawa’s cheeks are rosy and bright, his hands move in a wider space than normal as he talks and it’s cute. 

He’s cute. 

Iwaizumi smiles.

Three drinks later and two appetizers and entrees later they stumble out of the bar, Iwaizumi holding Oikawa’s giggling form up as best he can. He doesn’t even look at the receipt when he pays. It’s a problem for future Hajime to deal with. 

Oikawa claims there’s a pretty fountain nearby he wants to see, so Iwaizumi lets himself be dragged down the dark streets, focusing hard on the sidewalk so as to not trip on all the cracks. 

They don’t find the fountain, but they are caught on the arm by two strangers, who tap them on the shoulders eagerly. 

“Hey!” the tall one shouts, excitedly, “Hey, would you get a matching tattoo with a stranger?”

“What?” Iwaizumi responds. 

“He bet me sixty bucks I wouldn’t get a matching tattoo with a stranger and I need to prove him wrong,” the guy explains, pointing an accusatory thumb at his pink hair friend, “Help a guy out!”

“What kind of tattoo?” Oikawa asks, leaning forward. 

“Whatever you want. Something small,” the man continues. 

Oikawa grins, “I want Cassiopeia.”

“I have no clue what the hell you just said,” the stranger replies, “But if this means you’re in then hell yes.”

Oikawa laughs, stepping forward, “It’s a, It’s a constellation.”

“Sweet. You hear that Makki? I got one.” 

“I can’t believe this,” the pink haired man laughs, “This is crazy.”

Iwaizumi grabs Oikawa’s arm, “Oikawa, are you sure?”

Oikawa grins, “Why not?” he says, so easily, smile stretching wide and eyes glinting, “I’ve always thought about getting one. And what better night than tonight?”

“Think of the story,” the stranger encourages, “It’ll be wild.”

Iwaizumi purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything as the pink haired guy calls for an Uber, and the three of them start chatting excitedly by the road. When the car pulls up they all pile in, a bit too squished together for comfort. 

“This is crazy!” Oikawa squeals in delight, “Who even are you?”

The stranger with black hair lets out another loud laugh, “Right, we should probably get to know each other since we’ll permanently be linked together forever after this huh?”

Oikawa giggles more, “Probably.”

The man stretches his hand over Iwaizumi to shake Oikawa’s, “Matsukawa Issei.”

“Oikawa Tooru,” Oikawa responds. 

“Hanamaki Takahiro, up here,” the pink haired man says from the passenger seat, “And smile for Snapchat!”

The pair grin bright. 

“Grumpy’s name is Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa supplies, poking Iwaizumi’s frowning face and earning a swat for trouble. 

“Charmed,” Hanamaki nods. 

“I knew we could trust the fellow asians,” Matsukawa continues, “You need to listen to me more Makki.”

“I don’t need to listen to shit from you,” Hanamaki laughs, “We’re almost there.”

“Hell yeah.” Matsukawa responds. 

“Hell yeah!” Oikawa agrees.

“Oikawa this is too much,” Iwaizumi insists. 

“Live a little, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa waves off, getting out of the car as they come to a stop outside a tattoo parlor, “It’s a memory. I like collecting them.”

Iwaizumi sighs, but follows obediently after the trio as they enter the shop. Matsukawa explains the plan to the attendant who breaks out into a wide grin of excitement, calling over an artist. The artist is also eager, clapping her hands together when she learns what she’ll get to be a part of. 

“Where do you want it?” she asks.

“Ankle,” Matsukawa says hopping on one foot to raise the left one up. 

“My wrist,” Oikawa decides. 

“Alright, whoevers going first can take a seat, let me draw up the design.”

It happens so fast in IWaizumi mind. He’s never gotten a tattoo, never really looked into it, knows his parents would kill him if he did, even if he  _ is _ a full grown man. But in his mind, he always imagined it to be a lengthy and painful procees. It feels more like he’s in the middle of a whirlwind than anything else.

Oikawa watches the artist sketch out the constellation, asking for some lines to be thinner here and there before giving his approval. Matsukawa takes a seat, and the artist shaves a patch of his dark hair to lay down the purple stencil. 

“God you’re pale,” Hanamaki comments, his phone recording the evening and never leaving his face.

Matsukawa makes a kissy face at him as a response, earning him a laugh. And then the artist gets to work with her tattoo gun, piercing the skin quickly and evenly. Matsukawa grits his teeth at times, but other than that seems fine.

“Did it hurt?” Hanamaki asks.

“Like a scrape,” Matsukawa responds.

“Shit,” Hanamaki mutters, “Damn.”

“What?” Matsukawa asks, as the artist wipes away the excess ink and wraps him in cellophane.

“I think...Shit, I think I want one too.”

“Yes!” Matsukawa pumps up a fist, “Lets go, Makki! Let’s do this.”

“Aww shit,” Hanamaki laughs, “I gotta, don’t I?”

“You gotta.” Oikawa agrees, as he takes a seat on the chair. 

Iwaizumi bites his lip. 

“Iwa-chan come hold my hand,” Oikawa orders, and Iwaizumi’s a bit grateful. He’s out of his element and not sure what to do with himself. The artist smiles at him knowingly and Iwaizumi feels his stomach squirm. He moves around to take Oikawa’s other hand, “You sure?”   
  
“Yep,” Oikawa nods, straightening out his other arm to reveal the delicate skin wrapped around his wrist. The artist puts down the stencil and begins to work. Iwaizumi feels Oikawa’s finger tighten around his hand, but other than that Oikawa seems more fascinated than in pain. Iwaizumi can’t help but watch as well, as the black ink is injected, so stark against Oikawa’s pale skin. 

It’s beautiful.

Iwaizumi wants to run his fingers against it.

“Now I’ll always remember,” Oikawa whispers. 

Something stirs in Iwaizumi’s chest, tight and painful. 

“Ok, can I get it behind my ear?” Hanamaki asks the artist when she wipes away the excess from Oikawa’s wrist. 

“Yeah, I can size it down a little bit,” she agrees, looking over at Hanamaki, “Too small and it’ll start blurring together, so the tail of it might poke out past the back of your ear.”

“That’s fine.”

“I want one too,” Iwaizumi finds himself blurting out. 

Four pairs of eyes turn to him. 

Oikawa’s face beams, “Yeah?”

Iwaizumi swallows, “Uh, yeah.”

Matsukawa claps, “This is the best night of my life.”

“Figure out where you want it,” the artist says, “Here, come take a seat,” she continues, head angled toward Hanamaki. 

Oikawa hops out of the seat so Hanamaki can lay down on his side. Matsukawa helps pin back his pink hair to reveal the smooth skin behind his ear. 

“Where do you want it, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, taking his hand. 

“I don’t know. I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Iwaizumi breathes, eyes glued to where Oikawa’s holding him, burning him. 

Oikawa smiles, soft and sure, “You should get it here,” he says, rubbing the skin against his right wrist, light enough that it sends shivers down his spine, “That way when we hold hands, they’ll line up.”

Iwaizumi’s throat goes dry, his adam’s apple scratching as it bobs. He settles for nodding, staring as Oikawa flames up and looks away, squeezing his hand tightly. 

It’s a blur after that. It stings more than anything when he gets the tattoo, but the alcohol still warming his brain eases it. All he can focus on is Oikawa’s bright grin and his tight hold on his other hand. 

After they pay and bid the parlor goodbye, the four of them step out into the late night air. Matsukawa and Hanamaki hold onto each other tightly, “Thanks for doing this guys,” Matsukawa says, “We’re legally all best friends now.”

Hanamaki nods, “Honestly, we might be a cult.”

Oikawa laughs, “It was great meeting you. I sent you my insta, so add me!”

“Will do, boss,” Hanamaki salutes. 

They bid their farewells, Matsukawa and Hanamaki getting an uber, and Oikawa and Iwaizumi deciding to walk back to their motel room. Oikawa smiles at him, although, to be clear, he hasn’t  _ stopped _ smiling this whole adventure. But his smile is soft and delicate and warm, and it does stuff to Iwaizumi that he can’t bear to feel. 

Oikawa leans a bit closer to whisper, “I think, I think they thought we were a couple.”

Iwaizumi stares at him, at how  _ close _ their faces are, how dark the night is, how they’re holding hands, the cellophane wrapped around their wrists crinkling against each other with every movement. 

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa murmurs, in response to the silence. 

Iwaizumi kisses him. 

It’s unsure at first, messy and hesitant. But soon Oikawa pushes back, fingers clenching tight around Iwaizumi’s hand, pushing him back until he hits the wall behind him. Iwaizumi pull his hands free to grip onto Oikawa’s hips, grinding them closer. 

Oikawa gasps, sinking into him, bringing his free arms up to wrap tightly around Iwaizumi’s neck and connect their mouths again, and again, hungry and desperate. 

Oikawa is like fire in Iwaizumi’s hands. The longer he holds on, the more it burns his flesh, the more he knows it will hurt when he lets him go. So he holds tighter to the flames, lets them consume him, in this moment. 

Oikawa licks at his lips and Iwaizumi opens up to him, pressing even closer until all he knows and has ever known is an all encompassing heat. 

“Hajime,” Oikawa hisses, desperate and needy in his ear, making him shudder. Oikawa’s grip tightens on him, as if he’s afraid he might just fall. 

Iwaizumi kisses him again fiercely, before pulling back to hurry down the street. It’s hard, because Oikawa stops them after every block to kiss him fiery and sweet, and Iwaizumi wants nothing more than to sink to his knees and let it take him. 

They find their motel room eventually by the grace of the world, stumbling into the dingy room and falling onto the closest bed. Iwaizumi doesn’t even remember if they shut the door properly, because all he can see, all he can feel is Oikawa on top of him, nipping at his neck and making his chest jump with every little touch. 

Their clothes melt off of them, peeled away and discard to each and every corner of the room. There’s still no relief then in the inferno they have created. Wherever their flesh meet singes together, hot and sticky and wet. 

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi croaks, parched and needy and on the verge of everything.

“Shh,” Oikawa whispers, sweet and soft, a cooling breath on Iwaizumi’s cheek that makes his spine bend backward and his hips pull up from the mattress, “Let go for me, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sees stars, thousands of bright lights in the sky dancing across his vision. He sees stars and planets and galaxies in between. He makes out constellations known and unknown. 

He sees two Cassiopeias in the night with two hands clasped tightly together.

* * *

Iwaizumi wakes up burnt and bruised.

He pulls away from Oikawa’s hold, ignoring the sleepy groan his sudden movement elicits. He feels his heart thump in his chest as a cold sweat build on his brow. He scurries to the bathroom.

He takes in a sharp breath, leaning over the counter to see the purpling marks along his neck and collarbone. He traces them, hissing at the sting of his scarring skin.

He hurries into the shower, scrubbing himself raw. He peels back the clear wrap on his wrist, feeling nauseous at the sight of the little black dots. He runs warm water over the tattoo carefully, soaping up the area and biting his lip. 

His eyes sting and he shuts off the faucet.

He dresses quietly, grabs all his things and leaves the motel to repack his car outside. It’s later in the morning than he normally wakes, the sun out and hot on his back. He swallows.

His mouth tastes like ash. 

He sits in his car and...and nothing. He just sits, staring straight ahead and wondering what he’s done. What’s gotten into him. Ignoring the fact his first day is tomorrow and he still hasn’t moved in.

He slams a fist against the steering wheel before hunching over, “I’m a fucking idiot,” he hisses.

He leans against the wheel, pressing his forehead on it even though it’s too hot to be pleasant, half of him finding it just the right amount of pain to punish him.

His head throbs.

His heart feels cold.

Eventually Oikawa comes out, squinting and looking a little lost. Even the sight of him makes Iwaizumi nauseous, almost has him opening his door to vomit there and then onto the side of the street.

Oikawa opens the passenger door, slipping his duffle bag into the back seat before putting on his seat belt. “I thought you left me for a second,” he says quietly, forcing out a little laugh. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t answer him, turning the car on and pulling away onto the street. 

The silence in the car is deafening, the air thick enough to cut through and it chokes Oikawa, forcing his mouth to open, to grasp at something,  _ anything _ , “Last night, Iwa-chan--”

“Will you stop calling me that!” Iwaizumi snaps, sudden and loud, a frustrated fist hitting the top of his steering wheel. 

Oikawa’s eyes widen, flinching, “What?”

“Don’t play innocent,” Iwaizumi spits, venom coating his insides and poisoning his gut. If he keeps it inside he’ll rot, so he needs to spill it out of him. He doesn’t care if it sprays like acid in Oikawa’s face, not with his head a mess of thoughts, his heart a mess of feelings, and his body a mess of regrets. 

He doesn’t want anything inside him ever again. 

“Iwa-ch--”

“What did I just say!” Iwaizumi actually shouts, glaring fiercely at Oikawa as he accelerates the car. 

It’s a mistake. 

Oikawa is staring at him, open and confused and terrified. His eyes are wet and his mouth open just a little bit, still kiss bruised and puffed up and Iwaizumi can’t look at it. He can’t look at him. 

“What’s, what’s wrong?” Oikawa asks. 

“What’s wrong?” Iwaizumi repeats, keeping his gaze on the road, “What’s  _ right _ ? I’ve wasted so much time. I’m gonna get fired before I even start. I’ve wasted so much  _ money _ , being forced to drag your ass around the country. My dad’s dying miles away. I got a fucking tattoo, scarring my body for the rest of my life to remind me of how much of a fuck up I am because I just let you do whatever the fuck you want.”

“I, I thought--” OIkawa starts, but Iwaizumi doesn’t want to hear it, because it’ll sway his heart. And he’s upset, and there’s too many feelings boiling in him, burbling in his chest and making him want to cry. 

“I don’t care what you thought!” Iwaizumi snaps, “I don’t even  _ know _ who you are! You’re just some fucked up drunk I picked off the side of the road like the idiot I am.” 

Oikawa grits his teeth, “If it’s about the money don’t worry. I’ll pay for everything. It’s fine.”

“I don’t want your pity money!” Iwaizumi growls. 

“That’s not--” 

It’s Oikawa’s phone that interrupts him this time, loud and screeching, flashing the same contact name over and over on the screen. 

“Will you answer your damn dad already?” Iwaizumi shouts, taking the next left a bit more roughly than necessary. 

Oikawa freezes, fingers just shy of declining the call and eyes round and wide, “How do you know it’s my dad? You don’t know, you don’t know Japanese.”

“I can read something as easy as dad, shithead,” Iwaizumi spits, and reaches for the phone now that he’s on a stoplight, yanking it from Oikawa’s hands and answering it, “Hello? Oikawa-san, tell me where to drop off your brat of a son because I am absolutely sick of babysitting his trust fund baby ass---”

Oikawa rips the phone from it, hanging it up, “How dare you!”

Iwaizumi ignores the tears slipping down Oikawa’s red furious face, “Why are you running from daddy, huh? Go home Oikawa. Just go home.”

Oikawa slaps his seatbelt off, fumbling to get it off him and grab his bag. He kicks the door open despite the light turning greem on the intersection, “Fuck you, Iwaizumi,” he shouts, before slamming the door shut and stomping onto the sidewalk. 

Iwaizumi slams his hand on his steering wheel, balling them into tight fists. The honking behind him makes him hit the gas pedal and move forward.

He can see Oikawa walking away in his rearview mirror and he wants to punch through the glass as hard as he can.

He keeps driving. 

His tattoo itches. 

* * *

He gets pretty far, driving alone with just his self hating thoughts. The miles fly by and he can see his destination on the horizon, breaking up the distance. It’s there. He should have enough time to unpack his sheets and sleep before his first day. It will all work out. He won’t lose the job, he’ll make the money back, he’ll be able to send it home. It’ll be ok.

It’ll be ok.

It’s not ok. 

He rubs his face and lets out another string of curses, shoulders quaking and hating himself more than he’s ever hated anyone before. 

“You left him,” he hisses to himself, “On the side of the road. You just left him.”

Because of what? The panic he woke up in? The fear that he would throw his entire life away if Oikawa just asked him to. That he wouldn’t question it. That he’s never felt so strongly about any one person, and it absolutely terrifies him. 

So he just left him. He left him on the side of the road.

He pulls to the right as fast as he can to get off the expressway and turn around. 

He gets back to the city as the sun starts sinking, cursing the traffic and himself. He drives around their motel, asks if their room is still being rented, drives past the tattoo parlor and the little hole in the wall bar they’d eaten at. 

There isn’t any sign of Oikawa. 

Why would there be?

He curses again, almost blaring his horn with the force he slams his own head on the steering wheel. He’s an idiot. The biggest idiot in the entire world to just throw that man away, after everything. 

He doesn’t deserve him. 

He wishes he could call him and apologize. But he never got his number, never thought to with how inseparable they were. He hates that he can’t remember the social media accounts OIkawa had listed the night before to Hanamaki. He doesn’t deserve to remember them, really. 

He sits parked next to the street for a long while, contemplating what to do. He could spend the night here, search the man out in the morning with better light, but that would definitely mean forfeiting his job. 

Oikawa could already be on his way back to Japan for all he knew. 

This was insane.

He needed to let it go. 

He lets out another pained sigh before shifting his gears and pulling out of the space. If he leaves now he could make it home by early morning, take a shower and race to work.

He drives through the city, stuck behind cars blaring red lights at his eyes. He’s exhausted. He didn’t sleep enough last night, and sitting for such a long time is killing his lower back. Had he even eaten yet today? He doesn’t know. 

He would have missed him if his mind kept wandering, but suddenly, right before the light turns green he spots him. 

Not Oikawa, but the Brick Wall. 

He twists his wheel quickly, forcing it to turn sharply and ignoring the angry honks behind him until he’s able to pull over to the side. He doesn’t bother checking if he’s completely off the road, in favor of scrambling out and rushing toward the tall man. 

He’s taller than he remembers, giant and imposing, even though he is seated. When Iwaizumi grabs his arm the man turns his head startled, gold eyes flicking up at him in confusion. Iwaizumi is mad there’s not a hint of recognition. Is he that forgettable? 

“Can I help you?” Brick Wall asks, his voice deep and questioning. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do. But there has to be a reason this dickwad is five states away from when he last saw him, “Do you know where Oikawa is?”

“Ushiwaka-chan, they didn’t have your drink so you’re just gonna have to suck it up and have some of mine.”

Iwaizumi freezes, head turning to catch Oikawa coming out of the bar with a drink in hand. They stare at each other a moment, Oikawa’s feet stiffening in place. 

“Iwa-chan?” he says.

“Ushiwaka-chan?” Iwaizumi repeats.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima informs, pointing his finger. 

“What are you doing here?” Oikawa asks, legs restarting and taking him to the outdoor table where Ushijima is seated.

“What are you doing with  _ him _ ?” Iwaizumi asks right back. 

Ushijima blinks, pulling his arm free to look a Oikawa, “Who is this?”

Oikawa lets out a noisy sigh, pulling back a seat to sit down beside Ushijima and place his glass between them, “He’s the guy I’ve been hanging out with, remember?”

Iwaizumi swallows. 

Ushijima glances back at him, gold eyes piercing, “I see.”

Iwaizumi regrets getting out of his car, “I should go.”

“Iwa-chan! Wait,” Oikawa insists, “Sit down.”

“I don’t want to sit down with you and your boyfriend,” Iwaizumi hisses, “I can’t believe I ever got involved in this scam.”

“Oh my God,” Oikawa snaps, “Will you stop making assumptions about me all the goddamn time?”

Iwaizumi swallows. 

“Are we dating again?” Ushijima asks, looking over at Oikawa.

“Oh shut up,” Oikawa snaps, slapping his arms, “Don’t try to be funny. We both know you have the same sense of humor as a wet piece of bread.”

Ushijima snorts, leaning back and flicking his gaze at Iwaizumi mercifully. He holds out his hand, “Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

Iwaizumi takes it after a second, trying to contemplate how his life got to this point, “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“A pleasure,” Ushijima says. Then he takes his hand back to take a sip of Oikawa’s drink. He grimaces and puts it back down. 

“Oikawa, who the hell is this guy?” Iwaizumi growls, “I thought...I thought he was some scummy guy at that bar you were trying to get away from?”

“Is this what you tell people?” Ushijima asks.

“It’s what I  _ saw _ ,” Iwaizumi insists, giving the tall man a severe glare. 

Ushijima squints, mind working hard to remember the night and figure out how anyone could possible construe him in such a negative fashion. 

Oikawa sighs, leaning against the grated table top heavily, “Sit down, Iwa-chan.” He sends him a look when he doesn’t follow the command, repeating, “Sit down and I’ll explain.”

Iwaizumi still hesitates, but finally takes a seat, waiting. 

“Ushiwaka-chan is, regrettably, my best friend.”

Iwaizumi blinks. 

“The regret is mutual,” Ushijima confirms.

“Will you stop jutting in?” Oikawa hisses, “Since when did you become such a chatterbox?”

Ushijima shrugs. 

“We were neighbors since we were little. We dated in high school for a solid two months and it was a disaster. We’re just friends.”

“We are, objectively speaking, more than friends at this point,” Ushijima corrects. 

Oikawa groans, ruffling through his hair with his hands, “Stop reminding me.”

Iwaizumi wants to leave. 

Oikawa seems to feel it in the air, and lifts his head, “Did I ever, did I ever tell you  _ why _ I was in America?”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to respond but finds nothing to say. He blinks, closing his lips.

Oikawa cards his fingers through his bangs, sweeping them away from his face, “My dad...My dad decided to remarry. He’s in the process of moving back here. Wanted the wedding here. That’s why, that’s why I’m here. The night we met was, was after I bolted from the reception.”

Iwaizumi nods slowly, fingers twisting in each other, “So, he was just here to support you?”

“Me?” Ushijima asks, “No, I had to be here for my mother.”   
  
“See, that’s the worst part,” Oikawa murmurs, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms, “My dad married his mom.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen. 

“It is very terrible,” Ushijima agrees, “Onii-chan.”

“I’m going to fucking murder you in your sleep,” Oikawa threatens. 

Iwaizumi is dumbfounded, “So, so he was just trying to get you home safe but you didn’t want to?”

“It was the worst night of my life, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sighs, “I wanted to be as far away from it as possible, for as long as possible.”

Iwaizumi slumps in his chair, fingers drumming against the table edge. In the silence, with the shock of everything wearing off, he remembers the purpose of his return, “I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it, “I’m sorry for being such a giant piece of shit earlier.”

Oikawa laughs, holding a hand out to rub Iwaizumi’s arm, “I’m sorry for not being honest,” he says, “I really didn’t know how to tell you.”

Iwaizumi waves him off, unable to speak with Oikawa touching his arm like that after what felt like forever. 

Oikawa smiles, sad, his fingers squeezing him before releasing him entirely, “I’m sorry I used you as a distraction for some dumb adventure fantasy.”

The words are like cold water hitting him, sending his entire body into shock. Extinguishing his heart, drowning his charred bones, and making his face damp. He stands up instinctively, legs triggered to get out, to leave, to run. His mouth chokes out an “Oh.”

Oikawa squint at him, but Iwaizumi can’t bear to look at him now. When things seemed to be ok and suddenly weren’t. He feels stupid again. So very stupid. How does Oikawa have so much power over him, to make him feel over the moon one night and the stupidest man alive the next? He’s too powerful. He’s terrifying. 

Iwaizumi tries to leave. 

Try being the key word because Oikawa has somehow managed to get in front of him in a split second. Screeching his chair back and jumping out of it, running around the table to intercept him. His eyes are blown wide, mouth speaking a mile a minute, “No, that’s, no! Wait! That’s not, that’s not what I meant! I never would, I, Shit, Hajime last night was  _ everything.  _ I didn’t, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Iwaizumi feels winded, looking up at Oikawa’s distraught face, desperately ignoring the state of his own, “Everything?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Hajime,” Oikawa confesses, heat rushing to his face, and Iwaizumi feels relieved he’s not the only one in a constant hellfire when they’re together, “It sounds, it sound crazy. We’ve known each other for, for like a week, but it just, I. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--”   
  
“Stop talking,” Iwaizumi orders. 

Oikawa shakes his head, “Iwa-chan, I’ve ruined everything just now haven’t I? I’m just some weirdo liar you picked up off the side of the road. Keeping you from--Oh  _ shit. _ What day is it? What are you doing here! You have to, you have to get going! I’ve ruined it! You’re going to miss your first day.”

“I don’t care,” Iwaizumi responds, hands coming up to hold Oikawa’s upper arms, thumb smoothing circles, “I’ll find something else.”

“What?” Oikawa breathes. 

“I think, I think I’m falling in love with you too,” Iwaizumi laughs, even as droplets leave his eyes, sizzling into steam once they hit the heat of his cheeks, “Which is so, so, stupid.”

“Iwa-chan?”   
  
“I can’t leave without your number,” Iwaizumi continues, pulling back to wipe his eyes, “And a specific day when I’ll get to see you again.”

Oikawa stares at him, but instead of pulling out his phone like Iwaizumi wants, he leans down and presses a fierce kiss against his lips. And it feels as though they’re melting into each other again. And it’s  _ everything _ .

“Oikawa, are you going to drink this?” Ushijima interrupts, after the kiss goes on for much too long, especially taking place on a public street. 

Oikawa breaks away, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck to make sure he doesn’t scurry off again, “Ushiwaka-chan, I should have castrated you while I had the chance.”

Iwaizumi nips at Oikawa’s neck in the meantime, enjoying the way the man’s body jumps against him. 

“I really do have to leave if I want any kind of chance at keeping this job,” Iwaizumi sighs, “So hurry up.”

“I wish you could stay,” Oikawa sighs, pulling out his phone all the same, “Where do you work again?”

“I work for KawaSonic,” Iwaizumi explains, pulling his own phone to take down the offered number. 

Oikawa stiffens, “KawaSonic?” he repeats, dumbfounded, “Are you serious?”

“Why would I lie about it?”

“That’s my,” Oikawa pauses to laugh, “That’s my dad’s company.”

“What.”

“Oh Iwa-chan,” Oikawa coos, pinching his cheek. He scrolls through his phone, fingers fueled by giddy,  “I’m getting you rest of the week off,  _ with pay _ .”

And for once, Iwaizumi doesn’t try to argue.

**Author's Note:**

> eyyyy this is different
> 
> let me know what y'all think
> 
> funny thing is im /about/ to go on a roadtrip in a few days lol
> 
> until next time


End file.
